Hmm. Note to Americans and other aliens:Crossroads is a soap about a hotel, mainly. It was originally made in the seventies, and was renowned for dodgy sets and plotlines as thin as the walls. And for some reason has been remade.
If you like Crossroads, no offence :D
Heh, I just reloaded this 'cause I'd typed "Fellowship of the Rings" instead of "Fellowship of the Ring". I'm such a geek :P
Dedicated to Scarby, for pointing out my laziness in not bothering to check what the Cardinal Virtues are :P
Disclaimer: Not mine. Gaiman's and Pratchett's.
Changes
Part 2
One blue eye opened as Crowley awoke and he grinned. The tent in his sheets told him his human body was rather horny. Cynthia's fault for giving him those magazines - and his own fault for looking at them. He stretched luxuriously and a hand snaked down to touch himself. He sighed with pleasure. Maybe being human wasn't so bad after all. The sudden image of his angel touching him made him groan and made him even harder. Throwing the sheets to the floor, he increased his pace until his ecstasy peaked and he lay back, breathing heavily with a smile on his face.
"Aziraphale," he breathed, and felt his heart twist. Sighing, he frowned. If there was one bad thing about being human that he had discovered so far, it was this pathetic lovesickness. He had always wanted to be with the angel, even when he had been a demon. But he had never pined before and he didn't like it one bit. He wandered into the bathroom and turned on the shower, letting the delicious hot water wash over him, washing with wonderfully scented soap and washing his hair with exquisitely expensive liquids. After turning off the water and drying, he wandered into his room to find something to wear. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and blinked. A stylised black and green tattoo of a snake curved on his hip. He hadn't noticed that yesterday. Running a finger down it, he wondered whose idea that had been, as it seemed too cool for either Hastur or Michael. He shrugged. It looked good whoever had done it.
He pulled out an outfit - all black, of course - from the wardrobe, and went to say good morning to Eve. Her tongue on his skin tickled, her scales were smooth and her mere presence was relaxing.
"That's rather ironic, Kyriel," came a cool, musical voice from behind him. Recognising the archangel's voice, he put Eve back in her cage and turned to face Michael.
"Yeah, well." He gazed at the archangel and his unearthly beauty for a moment, waiting for him to say something further. He didn't, and Crowley started to feel uncomfortable. "Is there a reason you decided to come in uninvited?" His voice remained cool, even arrogant, but he was beginning to get nervous.
The angel's face remained impassive. "I have no doubt Duke Hastur will try and sway you to the side of Hell. I thought I may try to guide you onto the right track."
Crowley folded his arms. "First of all, I am not going to listen to Hastur. And I probably won't listen to you, either."
"Come now, Kyriel." Inhumanly pale eyes searched his face. "I have a busy schedule and am taking time out to try and save your immortal soul. Are you not interested?"
"Sure I'm interested. But of all the angels you're probably the one I'd be least likely to listen to." Michael just looked at him. "Look, say what you've got to say."
"Actually, I was going to take you somewhere," Michael said, taking a jacket from a peg and handing it to Crowley. "Will you come with me?"
Sighing, he nodded. "Sure. I have nothing else to do." And, though he'd never admit it, he was curious.
The angel nodded and headed for the door. Picking up his sunglasses from the table, Crowley followed him.
It was another beautiful day, and there were a few people out on the streets. From behind mirrored lenses, Crowley watched a man and woman kiss lovingly, children playing in the sun, filled with joy, and the angel's back in front of him. And suddenly found they were outside a church. He stared up at the gothic spires and the frozen rainbows of stained glass . Slowly he ascended the stairs and placed a hand on the door. Then he turned back to Michael.
"This is where you wanted to take me?" The angel nodded. "Why?"
"I told you. I am attempting to guide you onto the right track."
Crowley sighed and turned back to the door. He had never been able to enter a church before. For while God might be everywhere, a building dedicated to Him held a special holiness, one that burned any demon that tried to enter. But now... Now he could. Pushing the door open he entered and exhaled heavily. The holiness and love that permeated the building may not be obvious to most people, but Crowley could feel it almost tangibly, like an old and tantalisingly familiar blanket settling on his shoulders. The parish of this church believed and loved with a strength he hadn't known was still around in the world. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a bowl filled with holy water. Stuff he'd been afraid of since it had been discovered. Plunging his hands into it, he felt a startling shiver of pleasure at the purity, then turned and entered the church proper. Light of a dozen colours and more lit the space, and his gaze was drawn to the figure of Christ on the huge crucifix over the altar. He had been there that day, he and Aziraphale. He wondered how the Christ felt about what His Father had allowed to be done to him. A small smile skipped over his lips. Ineffable.
"Are you seeking anything, my son?" Crowley turned to see a surprisingly young priest behind him, and he took off his sunglasses. It was hard to see in the strange light of the sun through stained glass.
"Redemption," Crowley whispered, and surprised himself. Was he really? He hadn't realised that.
"Well my son, you've come to the right place." The priest sat on the pew next to him and indicated he should sit. Crowley did so and looked at the man. He believed, completely and utterly in his God. Crowley knew He existed. That was kind of the problem. How could one have faith when he knew God existed and knew what sort of God He was - a bloody ineffable one. "Why do you feel you need redemption?"
Crowley smiled without humour. If he told this priest the truth, he wouldn't be believed. " Because of what I did. My... job."
"Your job? Do you want to talk about it?"
"Best not to. They probably wouldn't like it." The priest looked worried. Well he should. "Let's just say I did a lot of bad things, and for the first time I have freedom to do what I will. And I want to make sure I do the right thing."
"Well, we can help you there," he priest smiled, putting a copy of the Bible into his hands.
Crowley smiled, amused. He knew every word on every page. He'd been around for the writing of most of it. For the love of everything on this Earth, he was in it. It wouldn't help him. The only thing that could help him was himself. He had to find strength and faith within himself. And suddenly he realised. He may know God existed, but he had never had faith in Him before. Maybe that was the path to redemption.
"Thank you, Father," he whispered, and the priest patted him on the shoulder and went off to do some priestly duty or other. Crowley stared down at the book in his hands, and felt as much as heard when the seat the priest had been sat at was occupied once again. His heart swelled and he couldn't help the smile that curved his lips. "I thought you were in Manchester." He turned to see Aziraphale looking amazed, and his amazement increasing as he saw the colour of his eyes.
"Kyriel?" The angel whispered, and the name on Aziraphale's tongue broke Crowley's heart.
"Not quite," he smiled to hide the hurt. "Getting closer, though." Aziraphale took his hand curiously, feeling the purely human flesh, stroking a finger along the lines of his palm, looking fascinated. Angelic blue eyes stared at him.
"What happened?"
"Punishment. Or a second chance, depending on who you ask." Aziraphale continued to stare at him. The angel's human body really was quite attractive, Crowley mused. "I had a visit from ..." He paused. He really didn't want to mention a demon here and pollute the atmosphere. "Tell you what, why don't I tell you over lunch?" The angel blinked.
"Well, alright." He followed Crowley out of the church. "I saw you leave your flat with Michael," he told him. "I had no idea why he would be down here, so I followed you."
"You can get arrested for that," Crowley murmured, and the angel flashed him a wounded look.
"And then I saw you go into the church, and I knew that something wasn't right."
"Or very right, depending on how you look at it." There was still confusion in Aziraphale's eyes, and Crowley wasn't surprised. He was still more than a little confused himself.
Looking up, he saw a bistro across the road. "You want to try that place?" He asked, and Aziraphale surveyed it and then nodded. Entering the darkened restaurant, they sat in a booth and ordered food and wine. There were only a few other customers; two nervous men who Crowley vaguely recalled seeing in St. James Park feeding ducks, and a group of three young girls giggling over brunch. Once the wine was brought, Crowley sipped at it cautiously. He hadn't had any alcohol since being made human, and was somewhat wary of its effects.
"Well?" Aziraphale asked, and Crowley gazed at him.
"I had a visit on Thursday. By Hastur and Michael." Aziraphale stared at him. "They told me that for my part in the aversion of the apocalypse I was to be made human." He shrugged.
"How long for?"
"Until... Well, until the end, I suppose." He winced. Mortality was getting harder and harder to ignore.
Aziraphale's amazingly beautiful eyes blinked, dark blond lashes touching his cheek. Something stirred deep within Crowley. "And what will you do?" Their food arrived and Crowley took the first bite with relish. Food tasted even more amazing to the human tongue.
"Do?" He asked, not sure what the angel's question meant.
"Well, yes. Surely what you do whilst human will determine what will happen to you, um, afterward."
"That's what I've been told," Crowley said, drinking long of the wine.
"So what will you do?"
Crowley sighed, and finished the glass off. "See, the thing is, if I just go off and work in a charity shop or give millions to the starving in Africa, it'll be like giving a nudge and a wink to the Big Guy Upstairs."
Aziraphale blinked at him. "I'm sorry?"
"I'll only be doing it to get a ticket to Heaven so it won't really count."
"Oh."
"So I don't know what to do."
"Do you want to get back into Heaven?" Aziraphale asked seriously, and Crowley looked at him slightly startled. Well, of course he did. He wanted to be with Aziraphale.
Aaaand? He thought, and there was silence in his mind. Surely there was something worth travelling the difficult path of redemption in Heaven? But he was having trouble thinking of anything. Obviously there was nothing but goodness in Heaven, but it wasn't very interesting. The thought of an eternity up there made him shudder. He had a similar reaction when he thought of an eternity in Hell given the chance to avoid it. But Heaven won slightly with Aziraphale being there. Or from there at least.
"If they did accept me back into, y' know, the angelic ranks, do you think they'd let me back down here?" Aziraphale blinked at him again, and Crowley continued. "I mean, they're-" he pointed downward. "-probably going to send someone else up to London, and I doubt they're going to be as useless at their job as I was. So they'll need someone else down here, right?"
"You have the chance of being let back into Heaven, and as soon as you get there you'll request to be sent down to Earth?"
"Uh, yeah." Crowley filled his glass and drank it in one go, feeling the world spin pleasantly as he did so.
"I don't know, Crowley. I do think they should have a few more angels down here to be honest," he sighed. "I mean, there are hundreds of you up here at any given time, and yet only a few angels. It really isn't good enough."
"Yet belief goes on much as it ever did. And humans don't really listen to anyone but themselves anyway."
"Well, yes, but it's the principle of the thing."
"Hmm." Crowley finished his glass and reached for the bottle, which was disappointingly empty. He was just getting drunk enough to be philosophical. That was always fun.
"Anyway, why would you want to return to Earth? Wouldn't you be more interested in seeing old friends?"
"Most of my 'old friends' are in Hell. I hung about with the wrong crowd, remember? Besides, any which are still in Heaven probably haven't forgiven me yet. It took you about 3000 years, didn't it?"
Aziraphale had the dignity to look ashamed. So much for the infinite mercy of Heaven, Crowley thought, not for the first time.
"Look, you wanna go back to my place? I don't really want to be alone." He said, uncomfortable in admitting a weakness, but discomfort was better than another boring night in his flat without company.
"Alright," the angel agreed, the worried look on his face telling Crowley that he didn't want him to be alone either. It was sort of comforting. Settling the bill, they stepped outside. Crowley put his shades on and they walked back to his flat in slightly uneasy silence. There was much Crowley wanted to say, and he got the feeling the angel wanted to say just as much. But neither of them was sure they should say a word.
Entering the building, they took the stairs up to Crowley's flat. A few flights from it, Crowley heard a small, scared "Mew!" from the corner. Looking over, he saw Lockheed, Rosemary's cat.
"What are you doing out here, you dumb cat?" As he picked him up, he purred gratefully and licked his hand. Walking up the penultimate stairs, he went over to Rosemary's door and knocked. She opened it, and smiled when she him and his cargo. Taking the cat from him, she apologised.
"Thank you, Anthony. Sorry he's such a nuisance, he keeps getting lost."
"No worries."
She noticed Aziraphale and her smile widened. "Oh, and your friend's here!"
Aziraphale gave a small bow. "Good afternoon, madam. Mr. Azira Phale at your service."
Crowley hid a smile. The angel's human names were getting less and less creative.
"That's ever such a strange name," Rosemary said as a hand ran over Lockheed's fur. He purred appreciatively.
"It's Biblical," Aziraphale said by way of explanation.
"No it's not," said Crowley, flashing a sweet smile at a suddenly flustered angel. "Except in that weird version you've got, but even then I'm pretty sure no names were mentioned-"
"Yes, yes, dear boy! But it's religious."
"Judeo-Christian religion," Rosemary corrected with a smile. "I'm a witch, you see, so it's not my religion."
Aziraphale looked even more flustered, so Crowley decided to interject in a sudden fit of kindness. "If you'll excuse me interrupting your theological discussion, we'd better get upstairs, Azira," Crowley said the angel's human name with a smile.
"Alright. Well, thanks again, Anthony. And perhaps we could continue this discussion again another time, Mr. Phale?"
"Um," said the angel, and Crowley dragged him away. As they went up the stairs and fumbled in his pockets for his keys, the angel sighed.
"I don't know what your problem is, Aziraphale," Crowley said as he found the keys and unlocked the door. "She's a witch, she worships Gods, and all Gods are facets of the one God, right? She's just looking at the Deity in a different way than Christians do."
"Um," repeated Aziraphale. "But the second commandment was not to worship false gods."
"Yeah, but that meant demons parading themselves as gods with glitter and gold and false promises. There's a big difference." Crowley took off his jacket and looked at the angel, who was staring at him.
"I never thought of it that way before. I think you're right."
"All these years and that never occurred to you?" He shook his head. "Wow. You want another drink?"
"I think I could do with one," Aziraphale agreed, and noticed the glass tank in the corner. "Oh!" He exclaimed as Crowley disappeared into the kitchen. When he returned, four bottles of various liquors with two glasses balanced precariously, Eve was sat happily on the angel's arm. Putting his cargo down on the table, he walked over to his two favourite beings. Aziraphale was looking at the snake with adoration. "Oh, she's beautiful, Crowley," he murmured. "I've always loved snakes."
"Well, yes," murmured Crowley meaningfully.
"Have you given her a name?" He asked as he put her back in her cage and then watched her with fascination.
"Eve."
A smile curved the angel's lips beautifully. "Of course." He stood and looked at Crowley. Even though he was several inches taller, he suddenly felt very small under Aziraphale's scrutiny. The angel was looking at him, and around him at his aura. "Are you alright, Crowley?" He asked softly, and the demon-turned-human closed his eyes. He suddenly found himself faced with two choices. Break down and find comfort in the angel's arms, or remain cool.
"For the minute," he answered, choosing coolness and walking over to the couch, sprawling on it. Aziraphale came to sit beside him, rather primly.
"There's no need to pretend," he told him.
Crowley smiled a smile full of irony. "I've been pretending since we crawled onto this planet, Aziraphale. It's hard to stop."
Looking pensive, Aziraphale nevertheless kept eye contact with him. "That was mutually agreed, Crowley. Not with words, but... We both knew it could never work." Crowley paused, six thousand years of pain and bitterness filling him. "But we were made for each other," he whispered.
"Yes," Aziraphale agreed. There were many things he could have said then, Crowley knew. About how he had tried to save him, how he had warned him about hanging around with the wrong people, listening to the Morningstar. And Crowley knew he could argue back about how angels didn't have free will, about the tyranny of predestination. But it didn't matter. In the end, none of it mattered. There was Aziraphale, and there was him. The one couldn't exist contentedly without the other, not even in Heaven. Everything else was just obstacles that had got in their way. Or, as Crowley was starting to suspect, they had let get in their way. He was still scared for the angel's divinity if he kissed him. But he wanted to. Then the choice was taken from him. Aziraphale leaned forward slightly brushed Crowley's lips with his own.
Angel-touch made Crowley's human body shudder pleasantly. When the angel pulled back, it was a little guiltily. "I'm sorry, I- It's just, with your eyes like that, you look so much like Ky-"
"Don't," Crowley whispered, putting a shaking finger against the angel's lips. "It hurts."
Aziraphale looked at him questioningly. "When Michael said the name, it just made me bitter 'cause the only time I ever heard him say my God-blessed name was when he tore my wings off ." The angel winced. "But when you say it, it hurts. Because I remember what I lost that day." He lowered his hand and his eyes, but Aziraphale didn't say anything for a long minute.
"They made me watch, you know. When Michael cut your wings off." Crowley stared at him. He hadn't known. "Raphael held me as... as he did it. I think it was punishment for not saving you." Aziraphale looked to the side, sadness and guilt in his face.
Crowley felt anger stir in him. "How were you supposed to save me? Were you supposed to stop me from thinking? Because that's all I did. Not to mention-" he was going to start ranting - but he stopped himself. Because Aziraphale looked so hurt already, and he knew that saying all those things and getting angry would only hurt him more. He looked at his angel for a moment and sighed. "I've said I'm sorry a few times over the years, haven't I?" A nod of agreement. "I meant it, you know. I am sorry I hurt you. It doesn't make much difference, but..." He shrugged.
"It makes a lot of difference," Aziraphale whispered. "And I know you meant it." They stared at each other for a long moment, aware that what was said next could be a turning point. It turned out that nothing was said. They both leaned forward at the same time and kissed each other. It was almost chaste, full of love, before melting into something more desirous. They pulled away, breathless, just staring at each other for a minute. "I love you Crowley," Aziraphale whispered. Crowley's heart caught in his throat and he felt a silly lovestruck smile spread across his face, much to his horror.
"And I love you, angel." He pulled the angel into his chest, so that his back was against his chest, and his face was in Aziraphale's golden-blond curls that smelled faintly of honey. The angel sighed contentedly and Crowley smiled. After long minutes, Aziraphale stirred to look at the clock.
"Would you mind terribly if I put the television on? It's just that Crossroads is on..."
Crowley sniggered. "Angels have no taste," he told him, and handed Aziraphale the remote control. He looked at it blankly, and managed to turn it on and find the right channel. Crowley half watched it, finding the adverts much more interesting than the actual program. After watching the commercials, though, he found he had a strange desire to eat bacon. He ignored it and sat through the remaining fifteen minutes of the unlikely and uninteresting antics of the population of a hotel. He had started snoozing by the time the theme music announced to all that it was safe to emerge from wherever they had been hiding.
"Do you mind if I see what else is on the television? I only have the terrestrial channels at the shop, and I've always wondered what could be on so many channels."
"Knock yourself out," Crowley advised, before reaching for the coke he'd brought as a mixer and pouring some in a glass.
"You know," said Aziraphale, peering at the screen, "I'm sure that I inhabited that man while I was trying to find my body."
Looking up from his coke to see what Aziraphale was watching, he saw it was some American Evangelist singing about Godly telephones on the Christian channel, and looked back down at his coke. "That must've been scary."
"Mmmm, quite," agreed Aziraphale, moving on. They ended up watching a history documentary, and neither of them remembered the event happening the way the historians insisted it did. He then flicked through the remaining channels and found nothing. "What motion pictures do you have?"
"Films, angel," he said with a chuckle before pushing him off him and winced at the stiffness in his bones as he crawled over to a pile of DVD's near the player and pushed them toward the angel. He choose the Fellowship of the Ring extended DVD, as it was the closest thing to a book. By the time the end of the film neared, Crowley was getting hungry, and was wondering whether he dared try to cook.
"That was actually rather good," Aziraphale said as the credits rolled. "I thought they would simply murder the book, but I rather liked it."
"Yeah," agreed Crowley, leaning his head forward and breathing in Aziraphale's wonderful scent. "You smell gorgeous," he murmured, and his angel turned around in his arms and looked at him.
"And you look rather nice," he said quietly. "Actually, you look very nice." His gaze moved from Crowley to study his aura. It tickled. "You were always attractive, of course, but your aura spoiled your good looks. But now your aura's much lighter, and you look... beautiful." He stared into his eyes, and then cupped his face as he moved to kiss him. As he did so, Crowley's grip on him tightened. He never wanted him out of his arms, never wanted his glorious lips out of kissing distance.
"Will you stay here tonight?" He asked suddenly, surprising himself.
"Why, of course. I'll stay as long as you want me to. I have to go to the shop to get my delivery tomorrow, but I can come back if you wish?"
"Yes, I do wish." After a pause: "Do you know how to cook?"
"I can make toast."
Crowley sighed and pushed the angel gently off him. "I'll go see what I can do. You want anything?"
"Do you have any cake?"
"Yep." Wandering into the kitchen, he first sliced angel cake, battenburg and coffee cake for Aziraphale and took it for him before facing the fridge. He picked up a microwave meal and looked doubtfully at the instructions. Deciding to give it a go, he pierced the covering and set the microwave to three minutes on full power as he was supposed to, and then looked doubtfully at what had been removed from the microwave. It didn't look much like a meal to him. Putting it onto a plate, he took it into the living room where Aziraphale had found a rerun channel and was watching Murder, She Wrote. Gingerly tasting the food, he found it wasn't bad and ate it hungrily. He was still hungry after he'd finished and ate the single slice of cake that Aziraphale hadn't got to yet.
As he got comfortable on the couch, the other settled back into his arms and sighed contentedly. Closing his eyes, Crowley revelled in the closeness, something he'd wanted for so long that was now, finally, rightfully his. He wanted more, but for the moment, just the angel's kiss was mind-blowing enough.
They watched reruns all night, until Crowley caught himself falling asleep. "I need to go to bed, Aziraphale," he said, yawning.
"Can I come with you?" The angel asked, almost nervously.
"You started sleeping?" Asked Crowley, surprised.
"No, but I'd like to hold you as you do." Crowley gave him a sweet smile.
"I'd like that," he said softly, and went into the bathroom. Washing his hands, he caught sight of himself in the mirror and was startled at how content he looked. He smiled, wondering idly if this were just a dream. If it was, it was one he didn't want to wake up from.
Wandering into his bedroom, pulling off his clothes and pulling on his pajama's, feeling deliciously exhibitionist doing it in front of the angel who had conjured up some cream tartan pajama's for himself. Crowley bit back a laugh.
"What?" Asked Aziraphale self-consciously. "This is the sort of thing human's wear for bed, isn't it?"
"Yeah. Yeah it is." He chuckled again and lay down on the bed, hands behind his head.
Aziraphale lay beside his, and pointed to the tattoo on his hip.
"When did you have that done?" He asked curiously.
"I didn't," replied Crowley, yawning. "So either Hastur or Michael did it."
"It's rather nice. It suits you."
"Yup."
"You really are tired, aren't you?"
"Mmm-hmm," Crowley agreed, barely able to keep his eyes open and turned onto his side. Aziraphale spooned up beside him, and the lights went off. "Thanks," he murmured, and fell asleep in his angel's embrace.